


The One Where Harry is a Prat (Not Really)

by Wonders



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Allergies, Auror Harry Potter, Fluff, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Hermione Granger, Helpless Harry Potter, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Sponsored by Lamborghini, Post-Hogwarts, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Presents, Sadly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-07-28 10:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonders/pseuds/Wonders
Summary: The one where Harry is a prat, a pig, an incompetent wazzock, an imbecile and ridiculous.Harry hears Draco talking about his favourite flower and buys him a bouquet full of them. Why, then, does he think Harry’s trying to kill him?





	The One Where Harry is a Prat (Not Really)

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[145](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> Thanks to the lovely prompter for this idea! It’s so lovely I couldn’t resist! ♥  
> Thanks to my dear D, who helped me brainstorm and gave me so many ideas! Also, thanks to the lovely K for the brilliant beta work! I had so much fun writing this, I hope prompter likes it!
> 
> Go to End Notes to discover all the meanings :)

 

**January, 1999**

 

“What the hell, Potter?” Malfoy spat, shoving the flowers into Harry’s face. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Er, no?” Harry sputtered, trying to push the carnations away from his mouth as he blinked, confused.

“You’re just stupid, I see.” Malfoy sniffed, scowling at the other man. “Keep those things away from me, you prat. Don’t ever come near me.” He raised his chin, pointy nose up to the sky, and slammed the door right in Harry’s face. The dark wood looked heavy and expensive, and it was so close to Harry he could almost count the lines in it, as he was left staring at it.

He blinked quickly and let out a breath, taking a step back and almost falling down the steps of Malfoy Manor.

_What the hell, indeed._

 

*  *  *

 

“Draco’s allergic to those, you pig.” Parkinson rolled her eyes at Harry, flipping her hair over her shoulders. “He probably hates you even more now.”

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.” Harry scowled down at his beer, glancing up at Parkinson as she took a drag on her cigarette. They usually met on Fridays, at the same pub: Bubbling Beverages. They kind of had a table, as they always sat at the back. It was quieter and darker, and Harry loved it.

Usually. He wasn’t loving it now, not when an amused Slytherin had him cornered. He needed to distract her, _fast_ , and that always meant one thing: talking about her girlfriend. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Late.” Parkinson gestured with her cigarette and shrugged.“Anyway, why did you even think that was a good idea?”

Harry huffed, raising his head. “I didn’t know, alright? I just heard him say he loved those flowers, and I wanted to get him something nice and—“

Parkinson cut him off with a snort. “Something _nice_? Potter, something nice would have been a Lamborghini. Flowers are just lame. Not to mention those, in particular, could make him choke to death,” she pointed out.

“Thank you very much, you’re _so_ very helpful.” Harry rolled his eyes and sat back, taking a long chug out of his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, just to make Parkinson visibly cringe.

“Ew, you really are a pig.”

Harry snorted and Parkinson flinched. “Why is he allergic to only those flowers? Aren’t people usually allergic to pollen? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Draco’s allergies are weird.” Parkinson took a sip of her drink and grinned. “I wonder if he’s allergic to that hideous hair of yours.”

“Can’t you just give me some advice? Since you know _everything_ about being nice.”

Parkinson paused then, looking at Harry. Her hair was longer now, just barely, but he had noticed it already annoyed her as much as if it was reaching her lower back. He was also pretty sure she let it grow only so she could flip it during their conversations, the Drama Queen.

He wondered what Parkinson would suggest. She knew Draco very well and actually dated him at some point—as far as he knew. She could maybe suggest something he had bought her, something she had bought him. Either way, he was sure Parkinson was, right now, the best card in his deck: the ace. Too bad she acted more like the joker.

He wanted to cry.

Harry was suddenly distracted when she raised a manicured finger to her lips, her nails as red as her lipstick. She then smirked. “Why don’t you buy him a Lamborghini?”

Harry groaned in exasperation and buried his face in his arms over the table, the snorting sounds of Parkinson’s laughter filling his poor ears. “Aren’t you the pig?” he murmured, voice muffled. She either didn’t hear him or decided to ignore him. She still kicked him under the table, though.

 

*  *  *

 

“ _Do you like cars_?” Harry blurted out, voice embarrassingly high pitched.

Draco almost jumped out of his skin, startled. “What? Cars?” He sneered down at his now spilt coffee. “I only know how to ride a broom, Potter.”

“I knew it,” Harry mumbled and walked past Draco, scowling at himself.

 

*  *  *

 

“Your advice is shite, you know that?” Harry said, drowning his sorrows in his beer. It was Friday night again, and he couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment (pissed as hell) and sleep through the entire morning.

“Salazar’s sweaty balls, Potter, don’t tell me you actually bought him a car.” Parkinson grinned, eyes wide and filled with amusement.

Harry wrinkled his nose at her. “No. I just asked.”

Parkinson threw her head back and laughed, snorting loudly.

“Oh, piss off.” Harry kept staring down at his beer, wondering if being the Saviour of the bloody Wizarding World would be enough to get away with murder.

“We have a lot of Pureblood traditions that you could look up, to try and woo him. Robes, hats, it doesn’t matter. Draco loves all that shite.”

Harry looked up. “He does?”

Parkinson hummed, looking at her nails. There wasn’t a fag between her fingers, like usual. “He’s a sucker for all of those ‘ _romantic_ ’ traditions in pureblood circles. When he was a kid, he was especially drawn to jewellery traditions. He’d never admit it, though.” She smirked and sat back, sipping her cocktail.

“Really?” Harry blinked. It was a surprise, that was for sure. But if he stopped to think about it, it actually made kind of sense. He could picture tiny Draco, in his posh robes and perfect slicked hair, telling Parkinson about his hopes and dreams.

It was endearing.

Parkinson noticed Harry was lost in his own world and leaned in, a wicked smirk pulling at her red lips. “So, a car, huh? If I told you to buy him a ring, would you?”

Harry groaned. “You’re a bloody prick.”

 

*  *  *

 

Harry did not buy Draco a ring.

It was just a band, alright? A beautiful band made of dark Jet and gold, with an intricate pattern and a small red ruby shaped like a teardrop. Harry thought it was brilliant if you asked him. Hopefully, Draco wouldn’t think it was weird but charming; how Harry took his time to choose something with Pureblood traditions in mind.

 _Maybe_.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the heavy doors of Malfoy Manor were slammed open, a puff of smoke following through. He coughed and blinked, looking up at the pale face. “What was that?”

 

“Potter,” Draco said, surprised. Harry didn’t blame him, though. They hadn’t seen each other since that rushed conversation at the Ministry—one of the rare occasions where Draco actually left the Manor— where he dumbly had asked him about cars. What an _idiot_. Draco looked relaxed as he asked, “What are you doing here? Did you get lost?”

“I, er.” Crap. “I just wanted to talk?” Harry asked, hesitating. He was actually surprised Draco hadn’t even smirked in his direction yet, the—

“Talk?” Draco looked at Harry from head to toe and smirked. “You look constipated, Potter. Do you need a potion or just a dick up your arse?”

And there it was. Why did he like this prat again?

Harry was unfazed by now, after all the years they spent working together. Draco often helped the Auror department with their various investigations —the ones where potions were involved—, and at first, it had been chaotic. There had been a lot of shouting and a few punches thrown now and then, but after Shacklebolt had threatened to fire them both for being _bloody children,_ they decided to call it a truce. Sort of. Draco still kept throwing snarky comments around, but nothing Harry couldn’t handle on his own. Eventually, Draco started running his own business, selling his handmade potions to St. Mungo’s and some other shops and the like. Harry couldn’t help but feel proud for him, now that they were a bit closer. He hadn’t visited the Manor before, though. Not since after the War.

At Harry’s silence, Draco arched a brow. “Well, I’m very busy.” He drawled. Indeed he looked busy, now that Harry looked closely. His hair was a bit messy and he had dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed casually, with his sleeves rolled up over his elbows —something Harry found strangely fetching. He almost didn’t notice the faded Dark Mark.

“Oh. I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“Wait.” Draco shifted, rubbing his temples in slow circles. “It’s alright. I could use a break.” He glanced at Harry and stepped aside. “Do come in, Potter. Excuse the mess.”

Harry stepped into the house and looked around. The first thing he noticed was that there was a lot of light. Everything looked… brighter. Not as dark as he remembered. He glanced at Draco and wondered if he had remodelled the house after Lucius was sent to Azkaban, or if his mother had done it herself. Either way, Harry liked it, and it made him feel more comfortable and welcomed than he ever thought he would be.

As he followed the Slytherin down the corridor, he noticed a faint citrusy smell mixed with cinnamon, something that swiftly reminded Harry of The Burrow, of all places. Draco would look appalled if he knew.

 _I’ll keep that bit of information for later,_ Harry thought,  smirking to himself.

“What in Merlin's balls are you thinking about? No, don’t answer that,” Draco said, scowling at his smirk. It was weird, Harry noticed —and quite charming— how the Slytherin tried to sound rude but failed miserably. He sounded just amused and not at all annoyed, and Harry felt the urge to congratulate himself for not making Draco upset in the first five minutes since his arrival.

That was an achievement all in itself, really.

They walked into a humble room, with tapestries hanging on the walls and a coffee table in the centre, two steaming tea cups floating over it. The images weren't moving at all —something that Harry was thankful for. The colour scheme was, surprisingly, pastel. Draco led him to a cosy couch, gesturing him to sit down as he placed himself in an armchair. Harry shook his head as Draco offered him some tea before pouring himself some, but didn’t take a sip. It was a bit odd, seeing Malfoy with such loose clothes and a smudge of… _something_ on his cheek, sitting in a bloody _pink_ armchair. Harry tried not to smile.

“Well,” Draco started after a painfully long pause. “What did you want to talk about?” Right. He couldn't just pull out the box, could he?

Oh, crap. He needed to think of something. And _fast_.

“Er,” Harry said eloquently. “How's work?”

If Draco thought Harry was dim, he didn't mention it. He didn't even  _blink_. “Work is good.” He said simply.

“I'm glad to hear that.” Harry held onto that brief lead Draco offered like a leech. “You're brewing potions for St. Mungo's, I've heard.”

“That's correct. We started slow, but I'm brewing five days a week for them now.” Draco said casually, sitting back on his chair. He finally took a sip of his teacup, pinky up. It smelled strongly like coffee.

And the silence fell upon them once again. He was starting to feel uneasy with all that pink around him, to be honest.

“Oh, come on, Potter. Just spit it out.”

“Can I see your potions’ lab?” He blurted out.

“What for?” Draco asked.  He suddenly sat up straight, eyeing Harry wearily. “Are you here as an Auror? If that’s the case, you must know that my potions are—

“No, no! Merlin’s sake, it’s nothing like that,” Harry said quickly. Draco’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit, his fingers loosening around his teacup as he arched a brow, looking at Harry as if he had gone mental. He didn’t blame him, though.

“Why did you come here then, Potter? Lost a bet? Want to find out if I’m as evil as you think I used to be?” Draco gave Harry a wicked smirk. “Let me save you some time: I’m worse.”

“I, er,” Harry swallowed loudly. He needed Draco to _shut up_. “I bought you a present.” That seemed to work just fine. He stared at Harry, blinking slowly.

“You _what_? It’s not my birthday.” Draco looked at Harry suspiciously. “Wait, why would you even buy me something for my birthday?”

“Because we’re friends?” Well, sort of. He was expecting a laugh, judging by the way Draco was looking at him. Or even a sneer, maybe.

“Oh. Oh, okay,” Draco said simply.

“Okay. So.” He hesitated. Was it the right time? Was the ring — _band_ — going to fit? Merlin, he hoped it fit. Harry looked for the small box inside his robes, feeling nervous as Draco’s eyes followed every single movement he made. _Fuck’s sake, why is so hot in here?_

He finally pulled the small box out, not daring to look Draco in the eyes. He didn’t want him to see his flush, his hesitation. Merlin, it was just a bloody box, right? Why the hell did he feel so nervous?

When the silence got too much, the box opened with an easy spell and Harry looked up.

He was expecting surprise. A faint flush, maybe. What he didn’t expect was Draco’s soft expression shifting, suddenly turning dark and angry.

“What the _hell_ is your problem, Potter?” Draco stood up, his expression ice cold. Harry was back to those days at Hogwarts, throwing hexes at each other, a feeling of hatred turning his stomach. Now he could only feel dread. “A gold ring with a red teardrop? And _Jet_ ? Are you bloody _barmy_?” He glared at Harry, his jaw working.

“I am very confused,” Harry admitted.

“Indeed you are! You’re getting everything _wrong_! Do you hate me this much? If only you would have chosen the bloody  _obvious_ option, this wouldn’t have happened, for Salazar’s sake!”

“Er,” Harry hated to ask: “What’s the obvious option?”

“Snakes, Potter! Everyone would have thought of a snake!” Draco huffed, the dark circles under his eyes standing out more. “Well, not _everyone_ , _apparently_.” He turned his face, a shadow falling over his eyes.

“Get out of here.”

*  *  *

 

“Jewellery didn’t work?” Lavender asked, eyes wide. “How could you screw _that_ up?”

“I hate my life.” Harry groaned. It was Friday night again, so he and his friends were hanging out in their usual pub. After a few pints, Harry was more than happy to mope openly, letting his miserable life ruin his night.

“Aw. There, there.” Lavender patted him cack-handedly. Harry buried his face in his arms.

“I wanna die. Please, kill me. It was so embarrassing,” He murmured into his sweater, voice muffled. “Why bloody _snakes_? What was wrong with giving him a fucking ruby?” He wondered why he even bothered and kept trying those stupid traditions. He wasn't pureblood, and he didn’t care about any of that, _honestly_.

“Why don’t you try again but with something different? Something nice, like a drink.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, why don’t you send him a nice bottle of wine?”

“He has plenty of wine.” Harry pointed out miserably, tipping his drink at her.

“You’re right. Hmm.” She paused, finger tapping her chin. Harry didn’t remember when she started joining their pub nights, but he didn’t mind. Her hair was longer now, and her laugh had a pleasant ring to it. “Why don’t you get him something sweet, then? I had a boyfriend once who sent me a bottle of liqueur and it was lovely! We had so much fun.” Her cheeks flushed, eyes far away from that room. He really didn’t want to ask.

She suddenly squealed, making Harry jump and hit his knee on the table.

“Ow! What? What the hell?”

“I got it! Peaches mean virtue and purity in Pureblood traditions! Didn’t you say something about Draco liking those?” Harry blinked and stared at her. He would never admit he just found her smarter than Parkinson.

Well, she was more helpful, at the very least.

“Oh. Oh, is that it?” Harry let out a breath, finally letting himself smile. Merlin, this could actually work. There’s nothing wrong with some _pure_ liqueur, right?”

 

*  *  *

 

After that visit where Draco had looked way more offended that he should after being given a —quite expensive— piece of jewellery, they hadn’t really had the time to talk.

Harry was busy with Auror training, as it turned out it was harder than he expected. Every day he had to wake up early, run to Floo to the Ministry, and then do some more running before the real training started. He didn’t allow himself to think about Draco that much, as much as he was dying to. He failed most of the time, though. It left him tired and sleepy, and he barely took a few bites of his sandwich before falling asleep on the couch.

And then start again.

It was during one of those times when he was dozing off with a piece of ham and cheese in his mouth when Hermione had stormed into his apartment.

“ _Harry_!” She shouted, making him jump and choke on his sandwich. She didn’t care. She rushed up to him and shook his shoulder. “Harry, it’s Draco! He’s at St. Mungo’s, hurry!” She turned, not waiting for a reply, and Flooed back to the hospital.

His dinner forgotten on the floor, Harry quickly stood, hurrying to follow Hermione.

They walked down the long corridors as fast as they were allowed to, sharing very few words as they made their way to Draco’s hospital room. His mind was working fast, providing him with a series of catastrophic scenarios involving the Slytherin: him being alone in his lab, with foaming cauldrons surrounding him. Suddenly, the one he’s working with explodes, making Draco fly back across the room, hitting his head and losing his conscience.

Harry let out a breath and walked faster.

“He keeps calling your name, Harry. It’s the only thing he’d say since they brought him here.”

Harry faltered and gaped, looking at Hermione. He could _feel_ his cheeks turning red. “ _What_ ? My _name_ ? Why is he calling _my name_?”

Hermione shook her head, panting softly. She looked worried, just as worried as if Harry or Ron were the ones lying sick in that bed. “We don’t know. He’s not— he’s not exactly conscious yet. His face—”

After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached room number 578. Hermione gestured for him to enter, and Harry burst right in, letting her close the door behind him. He’d thank her if it wasn’t because of the man on the bed calling out his name.

“Potter.” His voice sounded raspy, like it hurt even the smallest of breaths.

“I’m here.” Harry breathed out, looking down at Draco. His face was red and swollen, his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure he could open them, really. Harry felt breathless. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Draco in pain, but he knew for sure it didn’t feel as bad as it felt right at that moment. With the air knocked out of his lungs —as if he had been hit with a strong _Stupefy_ — he touched Draco’s hair gently.

“ _Potter_.”

“I’m here, Malfoy. I’m Harry.”

Draco snapped his eyes open so fast Harry gasped.

“You _fucker_ ! No so subtle anymore, are you? You wanna bloody _murder_ me?”

In the blink of an eye, Draco was sitting up, grabbing Harry’s t-shirt hard. He clenched his jaw and glared at him, and Harry was sure that if he could, Draco would have killed him then and there.

What?

“ _What_?” Harry blinked, staring at Draco stupidly.

“The peach liqueur you sent me, you imbecile! Can’t you see my bloody _swollen_ face? I’m bloody allergic to peaches!”

Oh.

Oh, _fuck_.

“Wait, wasn’t it a potions accident? I thought you—”

“My potion making is flawless, you _prick_!” Draco let go of Harry’s clothes and laid back against the pillows, breathing hard. He closed his eyes again and wheezed, face so red and swollen Harry thought he was about to explode.

“Out.” The word was barely whispered, but so icy Harry could feel it digging into his soul nevertheless.

“But I’m—“

“ _Out_ , Potter!”

The door was suddenly opened, and as Harry was being pulled out of the room by a mediwitch, he desperately tried to resist. As the door slammed in his face, he stopped fighting. He just stood there, staring at it.

“But I’m sorry.”

 

*  *  *

 

 

**February, 1999**

 

It was a rainy Wednesday when Harry saw Malfoy again.

It was a coincidence, really, as he was walking down the narrow streets of Diagon Alley. His face was dirty with sweat and his robes were a bloody mess, covered in mud after all the training he had to endure for the day. Neville had asked him to bring him some ingredients for a potion they were working on at Hogwarts—something plant-related—, and as soon as he opened the door of the Apothecary, a familiar blond haired man glared back at him from across the room.

He had to apologise. He _knew_ he had to.

Why wasn’t he moving, then?

The last time he tried to be nice he had almost killed him. Parkinson was right: he was a bloody prat. He shouldn’t be doing this; any of this. Why would Draco even want to be with him when he was this _stupid_? Merlin, even he himself couldn’t stand it, so how could Draco?

Harry turned around and started walking away from the shop. He didn’t mind that his clothes were drenched; he didn’t mind that his glasses were so foggy he could barely see. The only thing he could think about was how rosy Draco’s cheeks had been, how lively he had looked, despite having spent two whole days in the hospital. Because of Harry.

He almost didn’t notice the tap on his shoulder, making him shrug out of the light touch before facing Hermione. She looked worried, her nose scrunched up the way it did when she was trying to figure out a hard case at work. He almost smiled.

“Merlin, you look disgusting.”

“ _Pansy_!”

Harry snapped out of his own misery and groaned. He hated Parkinson for being the only tactless person to make him forget about his self-pity, the _cow_.

He hated her for being the only one who could get close to Draco.

He was about to snap back at her when he noticed Hermione’s face, now arching a brow at him, almost challenging him to insult her girlfriend. He huffed and looked down at their clasped hands. Why they were together was beyond his comprehension, not that he would ever tell Hermione. She’d probably call him stupid.

“Come on, you’re soaking wet, Harry. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” Hermione pulled at Parkinson’s hand and led them inside their usual pub, ignoring her girlfriend’s protests.

The pub was as crowded as always, and their table was occupied by a group of loud teenagers, laughing as they made a chair dance. Hermione barely looked at them as she led them to another discreet table covered in shadows. It was quieter, and even a bit colder than their usual spot. Harry shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, looking down at the dusty table.

Hermione and Parkinson sat in front of him.

“What’s going on, Harry? Draco said you tried to kill him” Hermione raised a hand when Harry opened his mouth to protest. “I know that’s not the case. _However_ , he did say you keep telling him how you hate him, through random presents.” She leaned in and her voice sounded quieter. “What were you actually trying to tell him?”

And just like that, Harry felt it was too much. He buried his face in his hands and closed his eyes tightly, not minding how uncomfortable the feeling was, with his glasses squashed against his face.

He really was helpless.

“I like him,” Merlin, he _sounded_ helpless. “I bloody like him a whole lot, and I’ve tried _everything_ , even a ring! And then I just, I just went up and almost murdered him _again_ —” he took a deep breath, pausing his rant long enough to realise he was rather pathetic, the way he was pitying himself in front of Parkinson, of all people, but he couldn’t stop. “For Merlin’s sake, even his favourite flowers were a better idea; he’s allergic to them but at least they looked pretty.” He finished and got back to moping. How could he had screwed up so badly? Why hadn’t he checked before, why didn’t he know—

“Wait a minute,” He blinked and raised his head. Parkinson was scowling at him while Hermione looked like she had been about to comfort him, her hand raised up in the air centimetres away from his head. She promptly tucked it back as he turned to her girlfriend, an accusatory finger pointing petulantly at her. “Didn’t you say all his allergies are weird?” He inquired. “He’s allergic to peaches, for Godric’s sake!”

“I didn’t say _all_ , Potter,” Parkinson snapped back, smacking his hand away. He pretended it didn’t hurt. “Do you even listen when people talk?”

“Ugh, I hate you so much.” Harry groaned.

“Likewise!” Parkinson singsonged.

“Shut up, you two.” Hermione rubbed her temples.

It was the end.

“You’ll be alright, Harry.” Hermione’s voice sounded softer, more careful. When he looked at her, she was watching him with that twinkle in her eye, the one that told Harry she had a plan. He perked up. “You mentioned he has a favourite flower? Why don’t you give him edible ones? He loves sweets, so maybe chocolate shaped like flowers could work.” She smiled faintly. “And it’s almost Valentine’s Day. I’m positive he’ll find that lovely.”

Harry quickly sat up. “What— are you really telling me this _now_?”

Hermione’s face fell a little, confused.

“Hermione! I can’t _believe_ —”

“Oh, right. Draco has always loved chocolate.” Harry snapped his head towards Parkinson, who was lighting a fag and already looked bored with the conversation. “Flowers and chocolate: both of them are also Pureblood traditions.”

Harry’s jaw hung open. “Are you kidding me?! You could have said something sooner! You watched how I made a fool of myself over and over again and I—!”

“Now now, Harry.” Hermione snapped her fingers, trying to get his attention. He glared at Parkinson anyway, repressing the urge to kick her under the table. He looked at Hermione instead. “You only have to make some chocolate and charm it to look like his favourite flower.” She said contently, looking as if Harry wasn’t about to have a panic attack just a few minutes earlier. She produced a quill and some parchment and proceeded to write furiously in it —the steps to cook some chocolate and the incantation he needed, Harry was sure. “What flowers and what colour?”

“Er, carnations. Yellow carnations,” He answered.

“ _Yellow_?” Pansy snorted, smirking at Harry mockingly. No wonder he threw them in your face, you incompetent wazzock.”

“You—”

“Make them white.” She turned to Hermione, ignoring Harry completely. She leaned over her shoulder and rested her chin on it, looking at the parchment as the cigarette vanished from her hand. “Add some red ones as well. Yeah, that will do.” Hermione nodded as she wrote, head tilted slightly. Parkinson kissed her cheek and Harry looked away.

“Okay!” A moment later, Hermione nudged the parchment towards Harry and smiled at him reassuringly. “You’re good to go. Make those chocolates and sweep him off his feet, Harry. You can do this.”

Harry glanced down at the parchment. “Er, actually, I can’t “

“I knew it,” Parkinson smirked and lit yet another fag.

He ignored her, looking at Hermione. “I’m pants at making sweets, more so if they are _magical_ sweets.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed, thinking about it. Harry already knew she couldn’t help, what with her workload and trying to make a relationship with a Slytherin work. She was kind of useless in the kitchen, too.

“Why don’t you go to The Burrow? I’m sure Molly can help.”

 

*  *  *

 

“Who did you say were these for?”

“I didn’t say.”

It was a lovely afternoon, one of those rare occasions when The Burrow was quiet. It looked just as warm and cosy, though, and Harry still felt like home standing in the middle of that kitchen. The broom was sweeping the floor, and Harry took a step back to let it through.

Molly arched a brow at him, making him feel a bit more guilty than he already did. She put the whisker down on the kitchen counter, still leaking of chocolate, and looked at him. “Why? Harry, dear, you know you can tell us anything. As happy as we were when you and Ginny started dating, we know things don’t always turn out like we want them to. And after everything… you deserve to finally be happy, to find someone that makes you smile,” She said and then added: “You’re still family. You always will be.”

Harry wasn’t expecting a speech like that. Not so soon, anyway. He looked up at Molly, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

“Even if I’m doing all of this for Draco Malfoy?” He swallowed.

There was a clatter, and then: “Oh, dear.”

Harry let out a breath and looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I know, Molly. I know you didn’t mind it when Ginny and I broke up. You’ve always been nothing but lovely, but I-“

“Huh, I suppose we’ll have to get used to having him around.” She picked up the whisker again, waving her wand to clean it.

“I- what?” Harry finally looked up at Molly. She was watching him now, a warm smile spread over her face.

“You’ll want to bring him along, won’t you? Harry, dear.” She took his hands gently, squeezing warmly. “It’s really none of our business. None of our children’s relationships are _unless_ they are getting hurt. And I can see that’s not the case here.”

Harry made a face. “I did hurt him, though.” He murmured as Molly leaned down, reading through the parchment once again.

“What was that?”

Harry was mortified. “Nothing.” Molly stood and arched a brow again.

He needed to change the subject. And quick.

“Can you teach me how to do those spells? I’d like to make them myself.”

“Of course.” She smiled that warm smile again and picked up her wand, waiting for Harry to do the same.

The chocolate was shaped into six beautiful carnations, all of them looking realistic and delicate. Molly nodded, pleased. “Now, the colour?” She turned to the parchment again and blinked. “White and red?” She wondered out loud. Harry smiled sheepishly at her and she just shook her head, showing Harry the spell.

The flowers looked gorgeous. Harry really, really hoped Draco liked them.

“Why don’t we make a few gardenias too, Harry? The bouquet will look prettier.” Molly’s voice sounded as warm as a summer morning.

Harry smiled and nodded, watching the flowers as they floated. “I’d like that.”

 

*  *  *

 

The weather was being sympathetic, taking a break from the usually crisp and windy Wiltshire, making Harry think this may not be a total failure like the last time he had been here, a velvet box in his pocket and a knot in his stomach.

The knot was surely still there, though. Harry ignored it and knocked on the thick wooden doors, taking a step back. If Draco rejected him this time, it was most definitely the end. Harry couldn’t think he could take any more negatives, not after he had tried so bloody hard.

The door opened and Draco looked at him, almost as surprised as he had looked the last time. He was wearing a green, silky robe over his —Harry guessed- pyjamas and was holding a teacup that, yet again, smelled like coffee. What caught his attention were the pink, fluffy slippers he was wearing, though. Harry was about to smile when Draco’s face twisted into a sneer when he looked at the Gryffindor, looking as nervous as he felt.

“Before you say anything,” Harry said quickly, making Draco close his mouth shut. “Please, listen to me.” He sighed and waved a hand, the bouquet materialising in his hands. He watched as Draco glanced at them, but his face didn’t change. Instead, he nodded and waited.

Well, this was an improvement. At least he hadn’t kicked him out.

 _Yet_.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me ever since I sent you that peach liqueur.” Draco looked as though he was about to talk again —more like _snap_ again at Harry— but he stopped him just in time. “And I understand. I mean, it was shitty of me to send you that without saying it was made of peaches; you can be pissed about it for the rest of your life.” He paused, took a breath. “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you _at all_ , and I hope you can _understand_ —” And now he was rambling, but he couldn’t help it; not when Draco was standing there, looking at Harry like maybe he wasn’t as crazy as he thought, that maybe, just _maybe_ , he really didn’t hate Draco, that he actually liked him. Quite a lot, if you asked Harry.

He took a step closer, holding out the chocolate flowers. Draco took a step back,  looking wary. Harry couldn’t blame him: the spell Molly had shown him was pretty wicked, making the flowers look real. He had to keep talking before the Slytherin ran away, though. “Don’t worry, they’re not real,” Harry said, looking at Draco. “They’re made out of chocolate. I spelled them to look like real flowers, though.”

Draco looked up, blinking. He looked breathless and impressed. His eyes were a bit wide, and Harry thought maybe he wasn’t screwing up this time. “You finally figured it out, huh?”

“... What?”

Draco let a smirk spread across his pretty lips, slowly taking the flowers from Harry. It was the first time he had seen him accepting one of his presents and he felt a rush of excitement run through his body from toes to the top of his head, a feeling he wasn’t expecting.

Draco looked at the flowers, turning them around as he said conversationally, “You are aware of the fact that you almost murdered me, aren’t you?”

Harry felt his cheeks burning.

“Er, yes. Sorry again about that.”

Draco looked amused, and the knot on Harry’s stomach finally loosened, letting him breathe again. He watched as Draco inspected the bouquet before taking one of the petals gently, eating the chocolate. He hummed contently and _finally_ looked at Harry. To his surprise, his expression was soft. Draco swallowed and the bob of his Adam apple made the knot reappear, now in Harry’s throat.

“You’re the most ridiculous man I have ever known.” It didn’t sound like an insult, so Harry allowed himself to smile, finally. He felt so relieved he could have flown without a broom.

“Thank you?”

“You know, it’s not so bad,” Draco said, taking a step closer. “When you’re not trying to kill me or when you’re not telling me how much you hate me _and_ wished I was dead.”

Harry sputtered. “I what? I never said any of that!”

“Oh, but you did.” Another step closer.

“Shut up.” Harry breathed out when he felt Draco’s chest pressed against his.

Draco smirked. “Make me.”

Harry didn’t hesitate this time: he tilted his head up and kissed Draco, his lips sweet like chocolate and soft like flower petals.

**Author's Note:**

> Yellow carnations symbolize rejection and disdain.  
> The ring was made after reading [this](https://jewellerydiscovery.co.uk/jewellery-knowledge/hidden-meaning-and-acrostic-antique-victorian-jewellery/), [this](https://feelthejewelsnews.wordpress.com/2013/05/11/dictionary-of-symbols-meanings-of-antique-vintage-victorian-jewellery/) and [this](https://www.joyjonesjewelry.com/blogs/news/the-hidden-language-of-victorian-jewelry) article. It was inspired by mourning jewellery people wore in the Victorian era. Snakes in jewellery usually meant everlasting love.  
> Peaches symbolize purity, virginity, youth, virtue, love and fecundity in some western cultures.  
> Red carnations symbolize “my heart aches for you”. White ones symbolize pure love and sweetness.  
> Gardenias symbolize purity and sweetness, secret love and “you’re lovely”.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/157320.html).


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